Calling Sam
by Every Shade of Blue
Summary: After Sam leaves the White House, Josh, Toby, and CJ keep in touch. [Series of one-shot ficlets based on some of the important things Sam missed from 4.17 through season 7. All are Sam-centric, other characters will rotate.]
1. Chapter 1

AN: I don't really know if anyone's going to be all that interested in these little one-shots, but just in case any of you are, I figured I'd let you know they aren't really going to be in any kind of order as I'm just writing them at random as inspiration strikes. I can't really promise any sort of regular updates, either (I kinda still haven't finished the show...), but I'll try to keep adding to it. Also, I can't really make any promises (my muse is awfully fickle), but if anyone would like to see a chapter based on a certain episode or event, feel free to message me or leave a request in the comments :)

* * *

 _6.09 Impact Winter_

Sam is surprised to be woken in the middle of the night by his phone ringing. His sleeping habits have greatly improved since leaving the White House. When he worked there, he was used to things like this happening; now, not so much. He fumbles around for a moment in the dark, struggling to locate his phone. When he finally finds it, he answers without bothering to look who's calling.

"H'llo?"

"Sam?"

In his exhaustion, it takes him a moment to place the familiar voice. He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Toby?" he asks groggily, confused. Until now, Josh, Toby, and CJ have been good about remembering the difference in time zones between DC and California. Glancing at the clock, Sam briefly wonders what could possibly have happened in Washington at four in the morning that had resulted in him receiving a call at one o'clock California time.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Well, you know, most adults who don't work in the White House do tend to be asleep at one in the morning…"

"I didn't know what time it was there."

Slightly more alert now, Sam pushes his comforter off and swings his legs out of bed, stretching as he tries to wake himself more fully. That's when it finally hits him. How can Toby not know what time it is? "Where are you right now?"

"On a plane," Toby answers shortly. Then he adds, "Somewhere over China, I guess."

"Right," Sam says in sudden realization. "The summit."

"Yeah."

Sam lets out a long breath, knowing Toby has to have called for a reason, but also recognizing that it's something he's reluctant to share. "What's going on, Toby?"

There's silence for a moment. And then: "The president's having an episode."

Sam, who's just decided to make his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, stops dead and almost drops his phone. "You mean the MS?"

"Yeah, Sam," Toby answers heavily. "The MS."

"What's – " Sam's voice is unsteady, and he has to stop and clear his throat. "What's wrong, exactly?"

"Started out unable to move his hands," Toby says quietly. "We decided to let him rest for a while. Then we found out about a – a situation, went to take it in to him… he couldn't move at all."

For a long moment, Sam isn't sure what he should focus on. He's torn between the rational side of his brain, the part that's worried about the implications of Bartlet being unable to go through with the China summit, and the emotional, the part that's worried about the man who for more than five years had been a mentor – and practically a second father – to him. And then a wayward thought crosses his mind, and he fixates on it, if only for the sake of having something coherent to say. "Does the press know? _Is_ the press going to know?"

"Not yet," Toby admits. "We're going to have to make a statement, I guess."

"So… no one else outside the plane knows about this yet?"

"No."

"So you really shouldn't have called me."

"Not really."

Sam laughs nervously. "Right." There's silence again for a while, until Sam decides to break it with an obvious question. "So why did you call me, then?"

"Doesn't one of us always call you when something like this happens?" Toby asks.

Sam knows him well enough to recognize that he's being evasive. "One of you always calls me when big things happen," he concedes. "But I wouldn't go so far as to say that something like _this_ has happened before."

"Right," Toby mutters, agreeing reluctantly.

Tired and more than a little exasperated, Sam is about to repeat his question when Toby speaks again.

"So what do you think?"

Sam sits down at his kitchen table, sipping at a glass of water. "What do I think?" he echoes glumly. "Well… you can't cancel the summit."

"I agree."

"That's not what you were asking about, was it?"

"Not really."

"I think…" He hesitates for a moment, running a hand through his hair. "You just have to trust him, Toby. He had to have known something like this was coming. He knows what he's doing. He's not letting anyone tell him he should order the plane to turn around, is he?"

"Of course not."

"Course not," Sam repeats softly. "Whatever happens… he'll handle it. It might not be great, but he'll get through it. Everything'll work out okay."

Sam can picture Toby hunched forward in his seat, rubbing at his forehead. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Sam answers honestly. "I do."

To his surprise, when Toby answers, he sounds relieved. "Good."

Sam can't help the grin that spreads across his face at Toby's reply. "Is that why you called me?"

"No."

"It is, isn't it? You were worried and you wanted me to make you feel better."

"That's not why I called."

"Then why did you?" Sam challenges, still grinning shamelessly.

There's no answer.

Sam glances at the phone in his hand, making sure the call is still connected. It is. "Toby? Is that why you – "

"Shut up."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sam can't help letting out a snort of laughter. "It's gonna be okay, Toby. I know you're gonna keep worrying, but it's gonna be okay."

"I'm not worrying."

"Right. Course not."

"I'm not."

"No, I know. You're not worrying."

"Right."

"Right," Sam repeats sarcastically, still grinning.

If it was possible for an eye roll to be audible, Toby would have managed it. "I'm hanging up now, Sam."

"I mean it, Toby, don't worry about him so much – "

" _Goodbye_ , Sam."

The call cuts off. Shaking his head, Sam downs the last of his water and leaves the glass by the sink, returning to his room and falling back into bed. By the sound of it, whatever is happening with the president and his MS at the moment is fairly serious, especially given its timing – but Sam had meant what he'd said to Toby. Jed Bartlet has lived with MS for more than a decade, and Sam has no doubt at all that he's not going to let it get the better of him today.

Some six thousand miles away, Toby settles back into his seat, letting out a long breath. As usual, Sam had seen right through his flimsy premise for the call – and, as usual, he had managed to do exactly what Toby had hoped he would. He looks up as CJ enters the cabin and stops next to his seat.

"You all right, Toby?"

"Yeah."

"Because it's just…" CJ hesitates, takes a deep breath. "This isn't going to be easy. He's gonna need all of us to be on top of our game as soon as we land. We can't seem flustered, or – or uncertain at all about whether or not he can do this, or – "

"CJ," Toby says firmly, leaning forward to look her in the eye. "It's gonna be fine."

CJ glances briefly at the phone in his hand, and something clicks. She nods, and finally allows herself a small smile. "You talked to him, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"You really think it's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah."

CJ nods, letting out a sigh of relief. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Long time, no fic. If any of you awesome Sam fans are still around, I'm sorry if I made you think I wasn't posting anymore. I didn't mean to be off the site for so long, but I've been having a lot of trouble writing recently. I have depression, and over the summer it kinda punched me in the face. Every time I tried to write something, I'd get through maybe a few sentences before all the motivation and enthusiasm I had for it would just fizzle out completely. Over the last month or so, I've started to feel a little better, though. There are still a lot of days when I have the attention span and motivation of a spoon, but I'm starting to be able to get back into things that I've struggled with since summer. Today I sat down and wrote this entire chapter. It's not much, but it's more than I've written in the last six months combined, so I'm gonna call it a win! I still have a lot more ideas bouncing around my head, so hopefully I can start to get more of them onto paper now and get back to posting more often like I used to.

To everyone who's ever followed, favorited, or reviewed any of my stuff, just know that I think you're fantastic! It's super cool to see that there are other people out there who still care about Sam an much as I do. And wow, this got super long-winded. I'm gonna stop talking about myself now. To any of you who actually read all this rambling, you're the real MVP! Without further ado (and I did not mean for there to be that much ado, yikes), forget about me and enjoy the chapter!

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 _4.20 Evidence of Things Not Seen_

Sam felt cold. The familiar 'breaking news' banner of the local television station had been flashing across his screen for nearly two full minutes, and he still hadn't managed to absorb the entire report. He took several deep breaths, willing himself to focus on the newscaster.

"...states that the suspect took three shots at the White House press room with a high-powered rifle. It is unknown if anyone was in the room at the time of the incident."

Logically, Sam knew that nothing could have happened to anyone inside the building. All of the windows in the White House were made of bulletproof glass. Even a high-powered rifle couldn't have broken through. At least, he thought so. He hoped.

And anyway, he tried to reassure himself, if anyone had been injured it would have been mentioned in the report… unless there was still too much confusion in the building for any detail to have reached the press.

Sam swallowed hard, his hands beginning to shake slightly. Too much confusion. It had been so dark that night, and the myriad of flashing sirens that had swarmed in from seemingly everywhere at once had nearly made him dizzy. There had been so much noise aside from the gunshots themselves, people screaming, shouts echoing in his ears. He'd found glass in his hair. A window had been blown out of a car directly above him, and the sight of the bullet holes had made him feel sick.

And then finally, there was Josh. It had taken so long to find him in the confusion. So long. Too long.

Too much confusion.

Sam's phone was in his hand before he knew he wanted it to be. Josh was still in his speed-dial, and in the space of one quick breath, he was listening to an endless ringing on the other end of the line.

Of all times for Josh to not answer his phone. Sam swore as the call went to voicemail and hung up without leaving a message, trying to ignore the waves of fear that were washing over him.

He's just busy, he told himself as he hit redial. He's busy. There's a lot going on right now, He's… he's busy.

The second call went to voicemail, as well as the third, and Sam gave up, throwing his phone onto a nearby chair a little harder than he meant to. Feeling panicky, he quickly retrieved it, punching in another number without thinking.

"Josh Lyman's office."

Sam let out a choked sigh of relief at having finally reached someone, nearly forgetting that he needed to say something.

"Hello?"

Donna sounded a little annoyed, and at the risk of her hanging up, Sam blurted out, "Is Josh around?"

"Sam?" Donna asked, all traces of annoyance gone from her voice.

"Yeah," he replied, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. "I've been trying Josh's cell, but he's not answering. I just saw… on the - on the news…" So much for sounding calm, he thought as he tripped over his words.

"Oh, Sam… of course. Don't worry, he's right here."

There was silence for a few seconds, and Sam sat heavily, letting the words sink in. _Don't worry. He's right here._

"Sam?"

It took only a second for Sam's sense of relief to be overwhelmed by embarrassment as the logical parts of his brain were at last able to make themselves heard. One bullet had hit the window of the press room, he reminded himself. It was completely illogical to assume that Josh - or any of his friends - had actually been in any danger. But then why had he found it so urgently necessary to hear Josh's voice?

"Sam? You okay, buddy?"

Shaking himself back to reality, Sam asked hoarsely, "Are _you?_ Why the hell aren't you answering your phone?"

"I'm sorry," Josh said. "Really. There's just a lot going on here right now; the Secret Service has got the place under lockdown… How many times did you call, anyway?"

"Three."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's… it's okay."

"We're all fine here. I swear. I wasn't even in the room when it happened. CJ, Toby, and Will were all in there, but they're okay. One bullet was never gonna get through those windows."

"Yeah."

"So everything's fine. We're fine."

"...Yeah."

Neither of them said anything for several seconds, until Josh ventured rather hesitantly, "Sam, are you… You're not usually so monosyllabic. Like, ever."

Sam took a deep breath before he answered, trying hard not to let any of the hurt he was suddenly feeling creep into his voice. "Why didn't any of you call me? You and Toby and CJ… you still call me when you need legal advice or if Toby and Will have writer's block, but then this happens and I have to find out from the damn news? I mean, I know things haven't really been the same since I left, but if this is some kind of - of punishment for walking out on - "

"Jesus, Sam, stop!" Josh interrupted him. "We're not punishing you for leaving! Look, you're right. It's been… _different_ since you left, but… we all know you wouldn't have gone without a good reason. We know how much you still care." Josh paused for a long moment, marshalling his thoughts. There was so much he could have said. Like how much he missed being able to walk down the hall and pop into his best friend's office for no better reason than to tell him about the ridiculous thing some congressman had said that morning. Or how he'd only realized after Sam was gone how long it had been since either of them had done that. Or how he'd wondered when exactly he'd let their friendship fall through the cracks. Or how much he wished he'd noticed that things had changed _before_ it had driven Sam to the other side of the continent.

But what he said instead was, "I don't want to make excuses, just… we all had agents breathing down our necks, and none of us were hurt. If anything really had happened, you would have been our first call, Sam. Still though, I know we should have realized…" He sighed tiredly, wishing not for the first time that he and Sam were having this conversation face-to-face. "I'm really sorry. If anything like this ever happens again, you'll be the first to know. I promise."

"Thank you," Sam managed, leaning forward and resting his head against his palm. The ache in his chest that he hadn't quite managed to shake since leaving Washington was back, the one that had yet to stop reminding him how much he missed Josh, Toby, CJ, Donna, Leo, the President. The one that had yet to stop asking him if he'd made the right decision.

"I've gotta go," Josh said, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. "I still have a lot of stuff to take care of tonight. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Sam answered again, and this time he meant it. He _would_ talk to Josh soon. "Say hi to Donna for me, and tell her I'm sorry if I was a bit short with her."

"I will. I think she understood, though."

"All right, well… bye."

"Bye, Sam."

There was a soft click, and Sam's phone chimed to let him know that the call had been disconnected. He tossed it aside and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The ache was still there, but that was hardly unexpected. He still didn't know if he was any happier in California than he'd been in DC. He still wanted so badly to be there, fighting for the things he believed in, to be in The Room, and he had to remind himself yet again that for nearly a year before he'd left, The Room was exactly where he'd never seemed to be.

He shook his head, forcing the thought out of his head. It was a line of questioning he'd wandered down far too many times in recent days, one he had no desire to revisit now. But still, whatever the reason had been, at least he had Josh back. A little piece of Sam's life had clicked back into place, and for the first time since he'd moved, the distance between the west wing and Orange County didn't seem quite so daunting.


End file.
